A/N: When I first read the 7th book I turned every page tentatively, waiting and waiting and waiting for something I was positive had been foreshadowed. My despair grew with every word, until the Epilogue cemented my disappointment in a scene that was never to be. A Disney-esque Platform 9 ¾ was well and good, but I wanted to see Harry's new heart's desire.
Years later, my friend L mentioned a wonderful theory of hers: content with his life filled with family, Harry would find the Mirror of Erised but think it was an ordinary mirror. J.K. Rowling's Rita Skeeter article about the Quidditch World Cup inspired me to redraft a drabble I'd written off of L's brilliant idea. Because our favourite hero deserves to know he's found happiness.
General Disclaimer: Not J.K. Rowling, not making any profit, and not attending any World Cup.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
— The Mirror of Erised's inscription in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
Arriving at Borgin and Burkes, Head Auror Harry Potter could barely restrain himself from cursing. He knew he should be happy, as they'd been working towards this raid for months. But with an unknown problem and being called in at the start of his vacation, he wasn't exactly chipper. Then, as his life seemed to be a cosmic joke, due to the anti-apparation wards he'd had to travel by floo. Merlin only knew that would be cause enough to swear.
"Unbelievable." Harry gritted out after tripping over the fireplace's hearth. A stormy glare around the store's front room silenced most of the snickers. Taking in the scene of milling aurors (some of whom were still chuckling, while none were apparently working), his scowl reached an intimidating level. So as he angrily dusted off the worst of the soot, no one dared to step forward…that is, until the Head Auror's patience broke. "OI! If I was a bloke under polyjuice, you lot've given me time to hex half of you. What the hell happened to security screening at a crime scene?"
Everyone jumped into action with an odd mix of hurried professionalism and stammered apologies. None of this put their boss in a better mood, even with a late check of his identity.
"Abercrombie! Where's McLaggen or Bones?" Harry gritted out as the younger auror in question hastily, magically confirmed that he was indeed who he seemed to be. "You lot were supposed to report in ages ago!"
"Sorry, Head Auror Potter. Sir." Euan Abercrombie finished the enchantment and took a few nervous glances behind him. "That is, Lord Potter, and—"
"Stop. Just…stop." He sighed, forcing his anger to recede. "Enough with the honourifics. Euan, I'm sorry for barking at you. But I have a portkey to Argentina in an hour and this is the last thing I need."
"Argentina?" Euan's 'hero worshipping' expression shifted on. Harry only just resisted groaning. "Because of the mascots and inferi—"
"For a family vacation." Harry cut in. He noted that everyone else was keeping a wide distance from him and figured this wasn't a good sign. "I get it, my luck's ridiculous. But what's going on here? There hasn't been an update since the initial raid. Is anyone hurt?"
"Everyone's fine." Euan didn't seem altogether convinced by this. "We've been waiting for orders."
"For orders?" Harry blinked, stunned. "I'd think McLaggen wouldn't hesitate to give instructions."
"Well…yeah. At first." The younger wizard fidgeted, looking as though he wished anyone would come to take his place. But no other auror had enough courage to step into the perhaps-not-so-figurative line of fire. "Then Senior Auror Bones and he started arguing in the back room."
"Ah." Harry resisted the urge to headdesk, silently cursing Hermione for convincing him to try out joint task forces. He'd hoped that Susan would pull back McLaggen, but he guessed everyone's patience had a breaking point. Not that he was blaming McLaggen with no evidence, but prior incidents weren't in his favour. Merlin only knew he still wouldn't get anywhere near that git and a beater's bat. "Let me guess, they're having a wizarding duel over leadership?"
"Not exactly…"
"A brawl?" Harry paused, a sense of dread spiralling through him. "McLaggen hasn't actually found a bat, right?"
"It's kind of a fight?" Euan looked at his boss strangely at the last. "Or a duel? It's…weird, actually."
"Kind of?" The Head Auror repeated in mild disbelief before groaning. Drawing his wand and stalking past the whispering aurors, he headed across the shop into the back room without further ado.
Walking through the door cautiously (in case there was something wrong, apart from a few bruised egos), the sight in front of Harry confirmed his fears. For both the towering piles of treasure and rubbish, as well as the witch and wizard flinging spells back and forth was about what he'd been expecting.
Harry dove behind a few boxes as a mild cutting curse ricocheted past, edging so close that he felt the scrape of the spell against his skin. Glancing around the corner he realised that his initial view was partly incorrect. While Susan Bones was firing hexes at Cormac McLaggen, instead of answering back in kind he'd resorted to just chucking items at her.
As a Hand of Glory was swinging wildly from her hair (pulling out locks of it at random), and her opponent's legs had turned into a slimy fish tail, the 'duel' seemed to be at a draw. But neither were slowing in their attacks; if anything, their movements were becoming more frantic by the moment.
"I'm not paid enough." Harry muttered, crawling towards them while carefully keeping any object he could between himself and the fighting. Huddling behind a large pane of glass, he peered out and took aim. With two swishes and two body-binds, the wayward aurors slumped to the floor.
"You'd both better be enchanted." He spoke at a regular volume, getting to his feet and turning the corner to look down at the prone figures. With a sigh he began undoing their hexes and pulling off the magical items that'd been thrown back and forth. The fish tail and beard made out of seaweed were vanished, and the Hand of Glory was stunned and tossed away. It was only in wrestling a rope mixed with a boa constrictor away from its tight grip around Susan's legs that he tasted something metallic in the corner of his mouth.
Binding and tossing away the rope, Harry wiped his fingers against his lip. Feeling liquid, he traced it up to what felt like a gash. He instantly realised what had happened. "The cutting curse. Right. Perfect."
Deciding questioning the aurors could wait a few moments, he glanced around to the pane of glass he'd hid behind earlier. Taking a step or two towards it he noted it was actually a full-length mirror, one whose jagged sides seemed to have been cut out from a frame.
Harry blinked at his reflection. Absently rubbing leftover soot and some green paint from his nose, he frowned at what was indeed a gash over his right cheekbone. A quick healing charm and the wound closed itself, but a nasty cut remained. With a cleaning spell the blood vanished. Thus, without another glance at himself, he spun back around to the aurors.
"Finite incantatem. Stay still or I'll stun you!" Harry barked out, his patience long gone. The aurors stayed still, but their gazes kept drifting past him. "Answer with a 'yes' or 'no'. Is there any immediate danger?"
"N–no." Susan stumbled out, letting out a half-sob. McLaggen was muttering something under his breath.
"Right. Fantastic." Harry sniped, annoyance tugging at concern. "Why were you attacking each other?"
"We—it—" she stammered, unable to get the words out. Her boss frowned, unsettled by the out of character behaviour, "—the mirr—"
"LET ME SEE IT!" McLaggen suddenly lunged forward, eyes wild. With a single stunner he was again down for the count, but Harry was left staring at him in utter bewilderment. Not dropping his wand this time, the Head Auror turned to the now sobbing witch.
"Susan," Harry said slowly, keeping his wand aimed at her, "tell me what happened."
"I—I—"
"Take a deep breath." He tried to keep his tone calm, remaining wary. Her wand had been knocked away and she made no attempt to reach for it. "I really need to know what happened here."
"I—I saw my, my family!" Her voice hitched with hysterics on the last word.
Harry was once again caught off-guard. For a split second he thought that Susan's husband had waltzed into the raid and wrecked havoc. But he as quickly remembered that, no, of course she wasn't married. Still, who was she talking about? He hadn't thought she had any family.
"First it, it was Auntie Amelia." Susan continued to sob. She seemed to curl in on her herself, transforming before his eyes into the stark opposite of his usually cool and confident friend. "Then mum and dad. Everyone else just…just surrounded them…all smiling at me, waving me forward, and I just could–couldn't—"
"Susan," Harry said gently, kneeling down and edging his wand away. Though still cautious he was now mainly worried. It was clear she was in no state to attack him, and he felt a beat of guilt for stunning McLaggen, "I'm not sure what you saw but…but they're dead. I'm sorry. They've been gone for years."
"THEY WERE HERE!" The hysterical tone came back as she too lurched forward. Harry swiftly caught her, tugging her back down. "McLaggen saw something too! He was muttering about being Minister of Magic or something, but he was also staring at the glass. Then the git pushed me away from the mirror, saying his image was, was more important, and—"
"The mirror?" Harry mumbled, unease settling in his stomach. For these details were plucking from his thoughts a half-forgotten memory. "No, no. It can't be."
"—so I, I pushed back!" Susan angrily stumbled, glaring at the unconscious McLaggen. She remained oblivious to the other man's shock. "He wouldn't let me look! I HAD TO SEE THEM! I, I had to…I have to…"
"Okay, okay. It'll be okay." Harry said numbly as she cried against him. He knew he should be saying soothing words, doing something to make her feel better. But he felt like he was in a daze. Only two productive thoughts floated through this murk so—while continuing the comforting embrace—he quietly conjured a Patronus and issued a soft message to it. He also gently tugged the hysterical woman to the side so that the jagged remains of the mirror were no longer in her view.
In short time the other aurors had followed his instructions and made their way into the back room. McLaggen was carried out and then revived, both the Senior Aurors were given calming potions and sent to the Ministry, and a cloth was enchanted to cover the mirror at the centre of all of this. With the most immediate issues thus taken care of, the team was at last set to the task of cataloguing the shop's illegal magical items.
After sending word for a Senior Auror to take his place, Harry found himself with a calm moment. It was only then that he faltered, hesitating about what to do. He'd just made up his mind to return to the front room and wait by the fireplace, when he found his feet moving on their own accord in the opposite direction.
The wizard thus waded around the working officials back to where the fight had occurred (an area that everyone else was avoiding). He eyed the tall mirror cautiously as he stood in front of the hanging cloth. He inspected the slithers of uncovered jagged, sharp edges of the glass. Even with the covering he could perfectly picture the gilded metal that had once framed it. A part of his mind wondered what had happened to it. A larger part of his mind didn't care; not when confronted with the rest.
Harry gave a low exhale. Reaching out a hand, he paused.
If this was the mirror, did he really want to look? He'd just gotten a reminder of how powerful the enchantment was. What if he was sucked in as well? What if the aurors had to tug him away? He'd fight back, start hexing, and they'd have to leave him here. But they'd tell his family…and that's when the guilt sunk into his chest, the scenario all too easily floating through his thoughts. Of a horde of Weasleys and old friends racing in to find…him. Harry. Kneeling with nose and palms pressed against the glass, staring hungrily and blind to all else.
Harry closed his eyes, leaving his hand extended mere inches from the covered mirror.
He was letting his thoughts run away from him. Ridiculous…stupid, even, to waste his time at the crime scene with daydreaming. Shaking away the fearful images, he was somewhat successful in banishing the grim scenario from his mind. But the nervousness remained; was he taking a risk? He'd become obsessed when he was eleven, Susan and McLaggen had duelled after just a peek at their desires, and he could easily hurt someone if he too decided to put up a fight. Was satisfying his curiosity really worth it?
But no. The danger was tiny and—after all—Harry had looked at the glass just a few minutes before, even if it'd then seemed like an ordinary mirror. Maybe (due to its years) it took more than a single glance for the spell to kick in? Maybe (in his quick look) he'd missed his loved ones peering out from behind him? The last was possible. He'd been focussing on the cut, and his mind on the bewildering situation. Still, whatever it was, he was being paranoid. The mirror was enchanting, but he could wrench himself away. Of course he could. He'd be fine.
Mind thus made up (having never been one to resist curiosity), his fingers clenched. Gripping the cloth, he flung it to the ground.
Then he stared.
And stared.
Harry could see why he hadn't recognised the mirror at first. Yet even without the jewelled frame and chiseled words at the top, the slants and valleys of the glass couldn't be mistaken. For Merlin only knew how many hours he'd once spent memorising every inch of this surface (for even what his family had been imprinted on had become precious).
He blinked. His reflection blinked, then raised a hand to almost press against the glass. His double did the same. They stared at each other—wholly ordinary doppelgangers. Perfectly in-sync.
His brow crinkled; his mirrored self showed equal confusion.
"It's me." Harry said slowly, gazing at the reflection mouthing identical words. His other hand was now pressed against the glass. Both pairs of eyes darted about, examining the other, seeing nothing behind either of them but the cluttered room. No dead or alive loved ones. "Just me. What?"
The Mirror of Erised hadn't even gotten rid of the minute scars about his face, or the darkened circles around his eyes (courtesy of three kids, one wild godson, and childishly trigger-happy aurors). His fingers curled next to the healing cut on his cheek, right below the glasses that were practically identical to what he'd worn at eleven. He could barely see the faded lightning bolt beneath his black fringe (as well as one or two sparks of silver he stubbornly refused to believe existed).
"This—this can't be right." Harry muttered to himself, still gazing in bewilderment. "If it's not my parents it'd be…be Ginny and the kids. The Weasleys. They're my heart's desi…"
Harry's voice trailed off with dawning realisation. He had to grab hold of the glass' sharp edges to keep from falling over, a blaze of dizziness darting through him. Ignoring the small cuts on his palms, the wizard no longer noticed the scruffs or tiredness lingering over his reflected features. All he could now see were the burgeoning laugh lines that outnumbered his scars, the shadows under his eyes from talking and laughing with Ginny into the early morns, and the smudge of green finger paint still left from playing with Lily earlier that day.
Amongst his black hair (with no grey strands; nope, none whatsoever) tiny specks of red were scattered, the remaining result of George hitting him with yet another hair dying charm. He could also just spot some lightened eyebrow lashes, courtesy of Luna's ongoing test of what colour best expelled Wrackspurts.
Thoughts spiralling, Harry absently scratched his ear—only noticing he was doing this by catching sight of the reflexive movement. He stopped and groaned, still uncertain how a night out with Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus had turned into 'tipsy' Quodpot with exploding itching powder. He wasn't planning on mentioning this to Ginny—the Firewhisky wasn't a problem, but her fiery annoyance with the alternative to Quidditch made her a mite scary.
Continuing to glance down the mirror, he noted his wedding ring could do with a scourgify—though honestly, his entire ensemble was a mess. His socks were mix-matched due to hurrying out to 'save' Teddy from Bill's overprotective father act, his trousers were dyed violet from James' explosive breakfast he'd dared to call treacle tart, and his clothes were scuffed from chasing Al around on his toy broomstick.
Harry took an uneasy breath, struggling to find his balance. For the mirror showed him. Just him.
The Head Auror couldn't keep back a burst of hysteric laughter. His image echoed him, but also fell silent before anyone could notice. He pushed his glasses up to scrub at a wetness by his eyes, and because of this caught a glimpse of his reflected watch (one that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett).
He leapt backwards in a panic, thoughts of lateness and missing his international portkey resurfacing. Spelling the cloth back to the mirror's surface (while sticking out his tongue to his equally amused reflection), he raced out of the room as though rabid Hungarian Horntails and pygmy puffs were after him.
For Harry wasn't about to lose even a moment he could be spending with his family.
"The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is."
— Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone